Three Times She'pan Melein Cried (And Many She Didn't)
by Tuulikki
Summary: A Faded Sun (C. J. Cherryh) ficlet. Title says it all.
I finished recently my fourth re-read of this book, and somehow it again made me want to write. About Melein. I still find this funny, as she (still) isn't one of my favorite characters. Maybe there just was so little from her pov in the book that I feel like I need to fill things up for myself, dunno.

Some spoilers for the whole book.

* * *

 **Three Times She'pan Melein Cried (And Many She Didn't)**

She was on the highest step of the stairs leading down into a storage room when the aircraft released its missile above the edun, the force of the explosion pushing her from behind, making her miss her step and roll down the stairs. She sat in the dark on the floor, stunned, her breath still short after her desperate run to safety, her ears momentarily deafened by the thunder of the explosion, a hand pressed against the pulsing pain in her side. Then there came the sound of something falling, of stones crumbling down, and the distant hum of the aircraft slowly fading away. After that, nothing but silence. A moment longer she sat, blinking away the stinging sensation in her eyes, until she carefully gathered herself up, bruised all over, and stumbled to the stairs, only to find the way blocked.

There was no way out.

No reason to assume anyone above would have survived the bombing. Nothing to do but sit and wait, in the dark and the silence, and hope that Niun was still alive, that he would return and find her.

And when he came, when she heard her brother's voice up there, saw the first glimpse of sunlight through the ceiling and was again pulled up to the light, she could have cried but didn't, for he was not alone.

.

The walk was long and hard, so much harder than the last and only time she had walked this way, together with she'pan Intel. The pain in her side was a constant companion, but she set her mind to ignore it, as she ignored the worried looks she got from her brother – no, from her kel'anth… of a Kel that did not exist.

Never would exist.

She ignored that fact as well. They were the last. She had known that already before Niun had told her the news of the destruction of Ahanal. She was the she'pan of a people that was gone… but still, she was the she'pan. She would do what was her responsibility. Protect the Holy, make sure it would not fall in tsi'mri hands. At least she was not alone. Niun walked beside her, and she knew he too would do what was his responsibility: follow her lead, protect her against anything, make sure she would be able to do what she had to do.

The tsi'mri that walked with them, stumbling under the burdenof water and provisions, she ignored.

.

It was only in the cool quiet of the shrine, when she sat alone in front of the last mysteries she had not yet been taught and read, her eyes taking in the information that made her heart skip a beat even before her mind could truly comprehend it, that finally tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, that sobs escaped her throat with violent trembling that sent sharp twinges of pain through her side.

She cried, long and hard and loud, aware that the two waiting at the entrance had to hear her, but unable to stop, until she heard Niun calling out for her, fear in his voice, and forced herself to calm down. She stood up, and still with tear-streaked face struck at the machines, spread fire and destruction with single-minded focusuntil an inferno swallowed up all the secrets of the place. Then she picked up the pan'en, the last and greatest mystery, at the same time so heavy and light with the promise of hope it contained, and walked out.

...

The spaceship jumped. She let the reality twist around her, barely noticing it. Somewhere else within the ship, she knew, the tsi'mri was in the grips of whatever ailment it was that made these jumps so unbearable for tsi'mri mind and flesh. It was of no concern to her – but she also knew Niun would be there close by, more worried than he would admit. She hoped, for his sake, that this tsi'mri would survive, that he would prove to be what she couldn't quite believe he was. At least he had one function for the journey: to keep company to Niun, for the way was long, and she knew she would not be socializing much.

She had so much to learn, and no one to teach her. And so she studied in her lone silence, delving deeper and deeper into the mysteries, searching for knowledge she needed. For there was too much she didn't understand and too much she feared… this gift of humans, the desolation of their path…

She had endured their imprisonment, carefully hidden her loneliness and fear somewhere so deep even she couldn't find them those moments when she was awake; now she had accepted this unasked gift from the tsi'mri with grace she didn't quite feel… for what else could she do? And now there was nothing else to do but to study, harder than she ever had in her life for she was desperate to know the truth of the voyage of her people…but the more she studied the less she understood.

And the day came when she had to say it aloud, admit it to her Kel: "I do not know." Those words brought out the tears, of shame, of fear. And as she cried, she thought of the dead worlds, thinking how, if she were to cry, she should have cried for _them_ and not for her own pathetic failure… and that thought did not help to stop her tears.

...

Thinking back at all they had been through there were times she was surprised how they possibly could have survived it all.

She remembered the destruction of her childhood edun, the picture of it lying in ruins imprinted on her mind. Remembered the ages long journey through the empty space, where their fate had rested in hands she couldn't yet completely trust. And even more painful things… fire falling down from the skies in An'ehon, people dying around her as they made their escape, each death hurting more than any others before them, for these were on her – she had led them to this city, to death.

By now there surely was barely nothing left of those numerous dead they had to leave behind without burial – just the swords and j'tal of the kel. Everything else must have long since vanished, either by scavengers, or Kutath's harsh sun.

She had not shed a single tear for them, not then, not now… then, because she feared that if she started crying, she would not stop, and she had what remained of her people to lead. Now… the wound was old, the pain turned into nothing but hollow emptiness that was almost forgotten, and her eyes had been too dry for too long for her to will out any tears.

So much had happened since then, good and bad, mostly good. People had died, but not in war and destruction, but as people should die: sen and kath of sickness or old age, kel sometimes more violently. She had not cried for them, and nor did she cry when the one who had once been her brother in a world now distant both in time and space passed on. Niun had lived a good life, and a long one, for a kel'en, left this life with his honor, leaving behind strong children and already a few grandchildren – there was nothing to mourn.

But now she sat next to a dead body the kel would soon carry to the burial site, her face covered with her veil, for death was not something a she'pan should face, and something burned in her eyes, a feeling she had all but forgotten. She knew her presence here made them ill at ease, but she couldn't stay away, not this time. She watched long the face that would soon be only a memory, the lines and scars time had carved into it, and tried to return to her mind the face of that young man who had once descended into the storage room to help her up, but found it buried so deep into the past she couldn't anymore recall any details.

She released a breath, and with it a single tear escaped, rolled down by her nose and soaked into the veil. Her hand touched softly the cold cheek. "Our Duncan," she whispered, closed her eyes, and let go.


End file.
